Nobela ni Skylark

In the days that followed, the atmosphere between Fedora and Judah shifted. The intimacy they had shared was now replaced by a palpable tension. Every glance lingered a moment too long, every touch was avoided. They moved around each other with a newfound caution, as if afraid that proximity might reignite the flames they were desperately trying to smother.Judah, ever the professional, buried himself in the mission. He coordinated with the CIA, ensuring that every detail of the final drug delivery of El Padre Rivas was flawless. His days were consumed with briefings, surveillance, and contingency plans. He needed the distraction, needed to focus on something other than the memory of Fedora's touch, the sound of her voice whispering his name in the dark.Fedora, too, threw herself into the role she had to play. She rehearsed her lines, perfected her smiles, and reminded herself of the stakes. This was more than just a mission; it was a game of life and death. And there was no room for

And the world between them caught fire.His lips found hers with the urgency of a man who had come too close to losing the only thing that had ever made him feel alive. Her fingers slid up his chest, curling into his T-shirt, and he deepened the kiss, cupping her face with both hands like she was something sacred. Something he’d once prayed for but never thought he’d deserve.The spatula forgotten, the food ignored.The only heat that mattered now was the one sparking between them.Fedora gasped against his mouth, and he took it as invitation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down, pulling him in. Every kiss he gave her was both like an apology and a confession. I’m sorry for falling in love with you. I can't help my feelings. I'm gone too deepBut even as her body leaned into his, her mind screamed, This is a mistake. This breaks the rules. This wasn’t supposed to happen.Still… it was Judah.And he was thinking the same—This shouldn’t happen. This changes everything

Seven days after the rescue, Fedora sat in the debriefing room.The room was silent, heavy with the kind of stillness that follows trauma. A chill clung to the air despite the spring sun warming Langley outside. Fedora sat wrapped in a thick gray sweater, her figure still visibly frail. But her gaze—tired, sharp, unflinching—held more strength than most people in the room could bear to meet for long.Judah wasn’t allowed inside.His supervisor, Trenholm, had pulled him aside that morning.“You’re too close,” he said. “We need her mind, Judah—not your heart flooding the room.”Judah clenched his fists but said nothing.He understood—but that didn’t mean it didn’t tear at him.So now, he paced outside the room like a caged animal, catching every muffled word that slipped through the vents.Inside, Agent Mowe sat across from Fedora. Calm. Clinical.“You were in Korben’s custody for four days,” He began. “Anything you remember—voices, names, faces—could matter.”Fedora blinked slowly. “He

“Stay on the line with me, Fedora,” Judah said, voice trembling, pacing the CIA ops center like a man walking a tightrope between hope and insanity. “Don’t hang up. Please.” “I won’t,” came her faint, exhausted voice. “I promise.” His throat closed, but he forced words out. “Are you safe now? Where are you exactly? Are you inside a building? Are there people with you?” “I’m in a house. A kind farmer brought me in. His family’s kind. They gave me food… a place to sleep. I think it’s somewhere in the outskirts. I—I don’t really know.” Judah turned to the team. “Trace her call. Get satellites aligned. Move now.” “Fedora, look around. Anything you can tell me—street signs, landmarks?” There was shuffling on her end. A moment of silence. “There’s a sign… says ‘Little Haven.’” “Copy that!” shouted one of the techs. “We’re narrowing it down!” Judah’s voice softened again. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” She was quiet for a moment. “I’ve got cuts. Bruises. But I’m alive,

The rope was tight, digging into the skin of Fedora’s wrists, but not impossibly so.She’d been still for hours—breathing, counting, watching the patterns of the guard who stood at the door of the dingy fifth-floor room. The old textile factory was a crumbling skeleton of rust and rot, but it gave her something Korben hadn’t counted on: silence. Silence that let her hear every footstep. Every whisper. Every opportunity.Korben had gone out for food. The guard was bored. And Fedora… was ready.She shifted in the chair slowly, careful not to draw attention. Earlier, while Korben ranted about demands and consequences, she’d swiped the tiny piece of jagged metal from the broken vent behind her. Now, she pressed it against the rope, sawing back and forth behind her back. Her wrists bled, but she didn’t stop. Her arms trembled from the strain. Still, she kept cutting.Minutes felt like lifetimes.Then—snap.The rope gave.She moved fast.Before the guard could react, she was on him. The cha

“Dammit!” Korben snarled, kicking over a rusted pipe as he stormed into the room. The bowl of street noodles he brought crashed to the floor, splattering the wall. The guard he’d assigned to Fedora lay writhing, bloodied and dazed, clutching his jaw and muttering incoherently. The ropes were on the ground—cut clean through. The window? Shattered.The air was rank with rage and panic.“Where is she?!” Korben bellowed, grabbing the man by the collar, shaking him violently. “You had one job!”He didn’t wait for an answer.Upstairs. Downstairs. Through the stairwell. Behind crates and rotten furniture. He tore through every room in the crumbling warehouse. No Fedora. He charged outside, diving into the dense brush behind the building, gun drawn, scanning for movement. Nothing.She was gone.She’d outmaneuvered him.And the handover to Judah was in just a few hours.He paced, breathing hard. Options flickered in his mind like static. He couldn’t show up empty-handed. That would mean he ca